


Menagerie

by AngiePen



Category: Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngiePen/pseuds/AngiePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rings actors are vanishing one by one.  What's going on and who's responsible?</p><p>This isn't a romance so there're no real pairings per se, although by the end you can probably figure out who's together and who's tending toward whom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Menagerie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HaldirLives2002](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HaldirLives2002).



> Written for the April 2006 LOTRIPS_FQF, for HaldirLives2002.
> 
> Request: Someone (could be one of the Fellowship or someone else, or even an original character) keeps a "menagerie" of stars. Each person is kept naked in a seperate cage. What does this person do to them? Do they escape? How? All of those details are up to the writer. I would like Viggo, Orlando, and Craig involved in some way (prisoner or jailer), but others are welcome to, especially if they are also prisoners.

Craig was the first to drop off the Fellowship's radar. Harry found out by purest chance; Craig was scheduled to attend a convention in New York and Harry'd decided at the last minute to drop in and surprise him, drag him out for a beer and whatever. Instead he'd gotten to the con hotel to find that Craig was a no-show, hadn't called or e-mailed or anything, wasn't answering his mobile and was completely unreachable. The lady running the Green Room was not at all pleased by this, although she was happy enough to see Harry.

Harry'd stuck around long enough to take Craig's shift at the autograph table, which also gave him a chance to listen to the people who'd expected Craig. No one knew a thing. No one even pretended to know anything, which was odd for fans; if there'd been any hint of a rumor going around about what had happened to prevent Craig's showing up, someone would've been spreading it, and loudly.

Nothing.

So when he finished, he headed straight home and got on the phone. Harry called Karl. Karl called Dave. Dave called Bean. Bean called Viggo. Viggo called Orlando. Orlando called Dom. Dom called Ian. Ian called Billy. Billy called Lij. Lij called Astin. No one had heard from Craig in over a month, which wasn't all that unusual, what with timezones and filming schedules and all. And for the same reason it was another four days before they managed to get together in a huge conference call, with groups in London, New York, New Zealand, Hawaii and LA, all on speaker phones. The signal fidelity sucked but they were all actors and could enunciate when they needed to.

Astin was sitting crosslegged on Lij's livingroom floor, right next to the phone on the coffee table. He said, "Craig was here a couple months ago, on the weekend of the eighteenth, for QuestCon. We had dinner Monday night before he left. He said he had another con two weeks later in St. Louis and then the New York thing this last weekend."

"The question, then," said Ian's voice over the fuzzy speaker, "is whether he made it to St. Louis."

There was several moments of silence, except for the electronic hiss-crackle of the speaker phone. Then Lij, who was sitting with his laptop on one end of the sofa next to Viggo, said, "What con? It's faster with a name." He was already tapping on the keyboard.

Astin frowned, his eyes half closed, then shook his head. "I don't remember -- he only said it once and I didn't pay much attention."

"Weekend of the second, right?"

"Umm, yeah."

"Got it. St. Louis Fantasy Fest. And...." Another flurry of keytaps. "He was there. Blue T-shirt. Looks like he just got dragged out of bed."

"I really don't give a damn what he was wearing, Lija," said Harry's impatient voice over the phone. "So he made his next con. That narrows it down to, what, six weeks instead of eight?"

"Right," Elijah said with a nod. "Some of the fans who were in St. Louis wrote up con reports for their blogs or the con website or whatever, but there's a ton of this shit and it's gonna take forever to go through even the ones that mention Craig to see if he happened to say where he was going next to any of them and if they wrote it down to share with the world. I don't suppose he mentioned anything else to anyone here?"

In the middle of the hash of negative answers, both around the room and over the phone, Viggo leaned over to look at what Elijah was doing. He was still on the Google page, trying to refine his search to bring up any conversations about Craig's future plans, but his various attempts were bringing up either nothing or almost as many hits as the initial "Craig" and "Fantasy Fest" search.

"Six weeks is a long time," Dave's hiss-crackling voice pointed out. "I assume someone checked his home?"

"Of course I called his house!" Harry snarled. "Both of 'em! LA and Aukland both and if you know of any others I'll be glad to pull out my mobile right now!"

"Sorry, sorry! Just checking, all right? I mean, it'd be kind of funny if we're all here worried to death and he's at home watching football, you know?"

"I wish he were," Viggo interjected before Harry could holler again. "At this point, the best possible outcome would be for him to have been home all this time, having zoned on his New York con, and just out for beer or in the bathroom when Harry called."

There was another few moments of silence, then a soft tangle of murmured agreement.

"So, who else is there to ask? Family? Other friends? His agent?" Ian's voice was strong and businesslike, projecting the assumption that of course it was just a matter of asking the right person and he'd be found.

"I think I have his parents' number," offered Dave.

"I've met some of his mates back home a few times," Harry said. "I should be able to turn up at least one or two with some digging. He doesn't really have an agent right now, though -- he's just been doing the cons and he's not in regular contact with Emma. She'll be taking him back when he's ready to work again but she probably won't have heard from him recently. I'll try just for drill but...." His shrug was all but audible.

There was another few seconds of silence, then Bean asked, "So, what now? Dave and Harry make their phone calls, all right, but do we report him missing?"

A mish-mash of "Yes!" and "No!" and "Of course!" and "No way!" crackled through the phone lines, then a brief argument before everyone realized that with all of their voices coming through at once, no one was hearing anything.

There was a short silence, then Astin said, "Of course we should. If something's happened to him then the police need to start looking for him. What if he had an accident someplace out of the way? It's been too long already -- we can't just do nothing."

"But what if he's just buggered off to take a bit of a break, then?" asked Dominic. "The last thing he needs is his name splashed all over the tabs and folks tearing up half the world looking for him when he's just lying low."

"Gimme a break, Dom," Harry said. "This whole year's been nothing but a huge vacation for him. Haven't you been listening -- he had _nothing_ scheduled for six weeks. Why would he need more of a break than that?"

"You haven't talked to him in how long?" Dom countered. "How do you know what's going on with him? Maybe he has some troubles we don't know about. Maybe he's off with some bird? Maybe some fan's been stalking him and he ducked out of sight to shake her?"

"Maybe space aliens kidnapped him? You've been working on Lost too long." Harry sounded impatient and annoyed.

Dom shot right back at him, though, with, "That's my damn point! We don't know! The last one to talk to him was Astin and that was almost two months ago. A lot can happen in that time, yeah? I'm not saying we should absolutely ignore this but we should think things through before we go public and cause a fuss."

"It should be his family's choice," Viggo said, before Harry could get in another retort. "You're both right. This is serious and we shouldn't go off half-cocked. Dave, when you talk to his parents, could you explain that we're worried? Make sure they know all the angles but it should be up to them to go to the police or the press or whatever they think is best."

"But there has to be something _we_ can do," Orlando said, sounding both frustrated and hopeful.

"You're supposed to be resting," Viggo reminded him. "You haven't had more than a weekend off in months, and not too many of those."

"Exactly -- I don't have any obligations for a while. I'm free to... do whatever we can come up with."

" _If_ we come up with anything useful for you to do," Ian said, "you can certainly help. But you're worn to a frazzle, lad -- I can hear that even over this dreadful connection. And," he added as Orlando started to protest, "since we haven't come up with anything terribly useful, save Harry and David's phone calls, it's a moot point just now."

Viggo laid a hand on Orlando's shoulder and squeezed. "You go on to the lodge like you planned and relax. Sit by the fire or throw yourself down mountains, whatever you want. We all have your cell number and we'll call you if anything comes up."

"Hey!" blurted Elijah, "did anyone think about the lodge? If Craig wanted a break from whatever then maybe he went there. I mean, that's what we got it for, right? Maybe he went up there and, I don't know, something happened? He fell and broke his leg, or the road washed out or something?"

"Can't call the lodge," Orlando reminded him. "No phone. And Harry tried Craig's mobile."

"But... that's it, though," Lij said. "What if he fell and landed on his phone? Crunch, leg and phone both. Or if he wrecked his car and his phone at the same time -- he could still be walking out."

"If he has any sense he'd have just waited for someone else to show up," Bean pointed out. "Either one of us or someone from that management company we hired. There's enough provisions there to feed this whole mob for two weeks even if he didn't bring any fresh things up with him -- if Lija's right, he wouldn't even be getting hungry yet. Bored maybe, aye, but unless he started out injured he should still be fine."

"That's Orlando's job, then," said Viggo, giving the younger man's shoulder another squeeze. "You're going to the lodge anyway so check to see if Craig's there, or any signs that he's been there recently."

Orlando glared at him but finally nodded. "I'll call you if I find anything."

 

The lodge itself might not have a phone but the management company that took care of it and most of the other vacation properties in that corner of Colorado did, and after he got home from Elijah's place Viggo called them.

"Rocky Mountain Management, this is Kyle, what can I help you with?"

"Hey, Kyle. This is Mortensen. You take care of 34518 Elkhorn Road for me and some friends and I was wondering if anyone'd been up there lately, like in the last couple months?"

"Last two months? I don't think so...." Viggo heard some shuffling and a few faint mouse clicks and then, "No, nothing in the records. I was up that way twelve days ago doing a sweep and everything was fine, locked up and no sign anyone had been around lately. No one called for groceries or anything."

"All right, thanks."

"No problem, Mr. Mortensen."

Viggo rang off and stared out the window for a moment. So much for that -- if Craig had gone up there he'd have at least called for groceries to be delivered, even if he hadn't checked in. The company did regular sweeps, like Kyle had mentioned, and letting the management people know when you'd be there kept the local sheriff from knocking on the door. He supposed Craig might've made a food stop on his way up -- while it was true the place was kept stocked with non-perishables, he couldn't imagine being up there for more than a day or so without meat and produce -- but if Kyle'd checked less than two weeks ago then that probably wasn't where Craig had disappeared to.

The extended Fellowship had bought the place together almost two years ago so they'd have somewhere out of the way to go to relax, recharge and hang out, either together, separately or in small subgroups. It was in a good location, near skiing (for the old folks) and snowboarding (for the kids) in the winter, and hiking, camping and fishing in the summer.

He'd been thinking of taking a trip up there himself soon, as a matter of fact. They'd just wrapped the contracts for this year's printing schedule at Perseus and he could use a break someplace where there were trees and birds. Everyone and their brother's girlfriend knew about the Idaho ranch these days and he didn't feel like hiding from gawkers on his own property.

The thought of calling the cops on people who were just hanging out and not hurting anyone was repugnant to him but last time he'd been up there a whole damn vanload had shown up on his doorstep, smiling and giggling and wanting autographs. The fact that most of them had had his books that they wanted signed was gratifying, or would've been if he hadn't suspected that none of them had ever read a poem in their lives except for his, and wouldn't have been reading his if it weren't for Aragorn.

At least no one knew about the lodge yet.

He might join Orlando at the lodge in a few days. Maybe Sean could come too? They hadn't hung out, just the three of them, for a while and that'd be fun. He wandered into the kitchen to get some tea and start dinner, thinking about what to bring if he went. Maybe try some ice fishing...?

 

Sean shifted his duffel to his other shoulder as he strode out to the hanger where he was supposed to meet his charter. His plane into Aspen had come in forty minutes early, for a wonder, and he hadn't checked anything so he was a good hour ahead of when he was supposed to meet the pilot who was flying him into Lake County, the local strip nearest Leadville, Colorado. He had a rental car waiting for him there, hurriedly arranged right before he'd left London.

Because Viggo hadn't called him back.

The mad Yank had phoned him a week ago and badgered him into agreeing to come to the lodge, stay a while with him and Orlando. It hadn't taken all that much persuading, truth to tell -- he'd been busy and although he wasn't as much of a wildman for running about the woods as Viggo, the lodge was spacious and comfortable and the thought of spending some time there was wonderfully attractive.

Or at least it had been. Until Viggo'd e-mailed him four days ago, saying that he couldn't reach Orlando and he was going up early. That he'd call when he got there.

And then nothing.

Sean had called both of their mobiles over and over but they'd gone right to voicemail every time. He'd fretted all the way across the Atlantic and on the connecting flight to Aspen. Another e-mail, from his daughter Lorna this time, saying that there was a short piece on Craig's disappearance in one of her fan mags, hadn't helped; apparently Craig's family had decided to go to the police and word had gotten out. He wasn't surprised, it's what he'd have done if it'd been up to him after all -- the lad's safety came first and fuck the scandal -- but it somehow made it more real, that even the cops couldn't find Craig.

And now Orlando was out of touch, and Viggo as well. He wanted to think they'd finally gotten around to shagging the way everyone but them seemed to know was inevitable and just forgotten to call him, but he knew better. Viggo could wander off in a daze, creative or otherwise, sure enough, but he wouldn't have left Sean just hanging and worried like this.

He reached the right hangar, double checked the number on his print-out, and headed inside. "Hey? Anyone about?" he called.

"Back here, just a sec," a voice answered from behind some equipment racks. It sounded female and sure enough, a woman about his own age came round a few seconds later. She wiped her hands on a rag, then held one out to shake. "I'm Del Norton. You're Mr. Bean?"

"Sean," Sean said, although he managed not to wince at "Mr. Bean."

"Del, then," she said with a nod. "You're a mite early but I checked arrivals and saw you would be so I'm almost ready to go. Fifteen-twenty minutes or so."

"That'll be fine," Sean said and nodded. He looked around and spotted a couple of battered chairs near a desk that looked like it hadn't had a clear, flat space on it for at least a generation. "I'll just sit out of your way, then."

"I'll holler when I'm ready," Del said and turned to head back to whatever she'd been doing, then she stopped and looked over her shoulder with a sideways smile. "Hey, you all having some kind of a Rings reunion up here?"

"What?" Sean just stared at her for a couple of jolting heartbeats, then said, "Who else have you seen?"

She shrugged and said, "I recognized Legolas right off -- flew him in about ten days ago, then Aragorn on Wednesday. They were both using other names so I didn't say anything, figured they wanted to be left alone. But since you're travelling as yourself I figured you wouldn't mind being recognized so I thought I'd ask. Sorry if I'm prying, I'd just wondered."

"No, that's fine." Sean took a step back toward her. "Do you remember Haldir any time recently? Maybe a couple of weeks, maybe a couple of months, any time in there? Craig Parker?"

The pilot frowned and her eyes unfocused for a few seconds, then she shook her head. "I don't remember, but then I don't really recall what he looks like. I only saw the movies once." She sounded apologetic about that but Sean waved it off.

"No, that's fine." Calm down, you're repeating yourself! Sean looked around and spotted a cluttered desk with a PC on it. "Would you mind...?" He gestured toward the computer. "There are pictures of him all over the internet and I'd really like to know if you'd recognize him." He paused, then said, "He's gone missing, you see, and we were wondering if he might've come up here." No sense trying to hide it if it's in the news, he thought.

Del's frown deepened and she said, "Well, hell. Sure, hang on." She slid into the chair and brought up Google with a few mouse clicks. "Parker, you said?"

"Aye, Craig." Sean spelled it for her, even though he couldn't think of any other way to spell it. Nerves. Calm down, man.

A few seconds later, she was staring at Craig's smiling picture and nodding. "Yeah, might've been him. That's not the name he used but I remember him -- friendly guy, we chatted about nothing much all the way out to Lake County."

"Aye, that's him." Sean was smiling like his head was about to fall off. "Do you remember exactly when he came through?"

A few more mouse clicks brought up some kind of a bookkeeping program and she nodded. "Second of last month."

That long ago? That couldn't be it, then. He must've dropped out of sight after that -- he couldn't have been missing _that_ long and no one noticed, could he? No one at all, not his family or his other friends, no one? "Thanks," he said out loud. "I appreciate you looking for me. It gives us a... a data point, like."

She nodded and said, "I hope he turns up. He was a really nice guy." She gave Sean a nod and went back to prepping the plane.

Sean set his duffel down on one of the chairs and sat in the other one. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, just resting for a bit. And thinking.

He couldn't have been missing that long, could he? He hadn't thought so, first thing, but now he wasn't so sure. Craig wasn't exactly a big name in the States -- he hardly got recognized at all unless he was at one of his conventions. His fans were an intense but small group as that sort of thing went. So it wasn't as though there'd be folks spotting him all over the place and then suddenly not, with ten million people on the net in an uproar over where he'd gone. With six weeks in between convention appearances, who'd have thought to worry for him? Especially if he hadn't anything arranged with his friends? Nothing to be noticed or missed....

He still had a few minutes and it was suddenly way too much of a coincidence that all three of them had been headed up to the lodge last time they'd been seen. He pulled out his mobile and called Harry.

 

Harry growled to himself, his fists clenched at his sides, as he headed back across the airport to where he'd pick up his rental car. He'd just talked to the pilot, Del Norton, and hadn't learned a thing beyond what he'd gotten from Bean's voicemail five days earlier. It'd taken him that long to get untangled from work and fly out to Colorado and in that time Bean had disappeared, following in the footsteps of Craig, Orlando and Viggo.

The pilot didn't seem to know anything, although she'd admitting to flying all four men from Aspen to Lake County. That was his next stop, or Leadville anyway, but just in case he was wrong and she _was_ involved in the disappearances somehow, he was driving. It'd take a while but it was better than falling into the black hole that'd so far sucked in four of his friends.

He also wasn't dumb enough to go in alone.

There was just enough time to get the SUV he'd rented before Karl's plane was due in from Aukland. He figured between the two of them they could deal with just about anything not involving actual firearms, and in case firearms _were_ involved he had a file he'd been adding to with everything he knew, believed or suspected about this mess. He'd add his notes about the pilot and e-mail it to all the remaining Ringers, then send updates every step of the way. If he and Karl did end up vanishing, the rest of the crew would know exactly what they'd been doing and where they'd been going when it happened.

Which was a pretty good plan so far as it went. Harry got the car, then sat outside baggage claim to wait for Karl while writing up his notes and mass-mailed the whole thing out. Karl showed up on time, for a miracle (one early plane and one on-time plane -- that _had_ to indicate some sort of weirdness going on) and they headed out toward Leadville.

The route was scenic but both men were too tense to really appreciate it. Talk during the drive was seldom, brief, and once Harry'd brought Karl up to speed, was solely about trivialities. They hit Leadville just under three hours later and their next stop was the management company that looked after the lodge.

The Rocky Mountain Management office was in a strip of commercial buildings on the main drag, between a bank and a veterinarian's office.

"Guess even the dogs don't get sick during ski season," Karl commented, nodding toward the "On Vacation" sign on the door, with a phone number to call for emergencies.

"Hell, you put 'em in those little sweaters and hats and they're fine. I've even seen dogs in boots -- rain boots, hiking boots, little dog sneakers, you name it." Harry smirked back at Karl, then pulled open the door to the small, white-painted office.

A bell hanging on the door jangled and a stocky, middle-aged man looked up from a desk. "Yes?" he said. "How can I help you gentlemen?"

"You Kyle?" asked Harry.

"Yes, I'm Kyle Massing." Kyle smiled with an expression that invited introductions.

"I'm Harry Sinclair, this is Karl Urban. We're heading up to 34518 Elkhorn Road and were wondering if anyone else was up there? Don't want to walk in on anyone by surprise." He winked and added, "Or maybe we do -- depends who it is."

"Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Urban." Kyle nodded and brought up a file on his PC. A moment later he said, "No, no one's been up there that I know of recently. I went by day before yesterday and it was locked up and secure. You should have it all to yourselves." Another smile and he held up a couple of papers stapled together. "Would you like groceries delivered? You can check off what you want and I'll bring it up after the office closes, or if you'd rather shop for yourselves there's a Safeway about a mile up the road."

"We'll stop and poke around the store, figure out what we want. Thanks anyway." Harry gave him a half-salute, half-wave, then turned and left, Karl at his heels.

As they got back into the car, though, Karl said, "I think we have a new number one suspect."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Why? I mean, sure, he's a possibility -- he'd know whenever someone went up to the lodge so it might be either him or someone he'd know well enough to blab to, but why number one?"

"Didn't you say Viggo'd called him?" Karl asked. "That's how you knew the guy's name, right?"

"Yeah, but...." Harry trailed off, then scowled. "Right -- why'd he have to look up the lodge's records? Viggo'd have had to use his real name, since our names are on the contract, and you'd think that having Aragorn call him to check on the status of the place just over a week ago would make it stick in his mind."

Karl nodded, adding, "And most people'd probably ask why so many people were asking whether anyone'd gone up there recently. Not necessarily I suppose, if he's not the curious sort, but it's one more thing, right?"

"Yeah." Harry pulled out into the street and headed up the road toward where Kyle had said the grocery store was located. "So we keep a sharp eye out from now on. You go in and get some groceries, I'll stay out here and update the file. I'll bet there's an internet cafe or a copy shop or someplace like that in town with wireless -- I want to send out our suspicions about our friend Kyle before we actually hit the lodge, just in case there's something cute waiting for us."

Karl nodded and they headed off.

 

Another hour and a quarter of driving brought them to the lodge. It looked normal enough, but Harry'd only been there twice and Karl four times, so it wasn't like either of them had the details memorized. In case there was someone or something else waiting for them, Harry ducked down out of sight in the car while Karl went in to check the place out. A couple minutes later he came back out to the porch and hollered -- all clear.

"Now what?" Harry mumbled while plodding across the snowy yard and up the steps. He peered around the porch, checking suspicious shadows and corners but didn't turn up anything more dangerous than a couple of cold-looking spiders.

"Now we look for any clues that the others might've been here," Karl answered. They headed inside and he added, "Ever see CSI? You crawl around with a flashlight looking for blood drops and hairs and threads and weird dirt and stuff."

Harry snorted. "Didn't figure you for watching the Geek Channel on TV."

"Hey, it's not just geeky. There's a lot of blood and gunshots and stuff. Now, Numbers is the real geek show -- give Charlie a chalkboard and he can figure out anything."

"Next time I cast you, you're _so_ getting glasses and a bow tie."

"Thanks for the warning -- I'll be busy."

Harry punched Karl in the arm as he passed by, poking his head into the kitchen. It was good to have a couple laughs after all the tension but at the same time it was frustrating to have just... arrived, perfectly safe, no masked kidnappers lurking, no covered bear-traps in the lawn. The lodge seemed perfectly normal. Dammit.

Karl came in with the groceries, edging past Harry who was still lurking in the doorway. He dumped the plastic bags on the counter and started putting things away. Harry wandered around, poking into the rest of the place -- five bedrooms, three bathrooms and loft, besides the huge living room, and was just coming up out of the basement when Karl called. He headed back to the kitchen and said, "Yeah?"

"I have an idea," Karl said, poking around in the pantry. It was neatly if tightly packed with canned stuff and other non-perishable food. "Most of this stuff has expiration dates on it. The newest stuff would've been restocked after the last time someone was here. That was September, right? Or would be if Craig and the others really never made it up here, like that Kyle guy said."

Harry grinned and nodded. "Right. So if there's anything newer then we know someone's been here eating since then." He grabbed the note pad used for grocery lists from the top of the fridge and pulled a pen out of his pocket. "Let's see what we've got...."

 

By the time Harry got back to the car in the Safeway parking lot after walking around town, it was early evening and Karl was done with his investigating in the grocery store. "How'd it go?" Harry asked.

"Right on target," Karl answered, waving the folded pages they'd torn off the pad after doing their impromptu inventory of the pantry. "Not a whole lot, but a few things here and there have been replaced, and looking at the expiration dates on the same stuff in the store right now, they're a _lot_ fresher than September. Either we're getting cheated on the restocking service or at least one person's been up here recently. What'd you find?"

"Nothing definite," Harry said. He climbed into the SUV and slammed the door. "Just circumstantial crap but interesting anyway. Our Mr. Massing is pretty well liked around town -- I found a few folks who know him and they said he was an okay guy. But does his name ring any bells?"

Karl frowned, thinking, then shook his head.

"His wife's the vet on vacation. Remember, next door to his office?"

"Right, Dr. Massing the vet. So his wife's on vacation but he's still here. That's kind of weird. Maybe she went to visit her mother or something?"

"Maybe," Harry said, nodding. "I can think of a couple of things. Either he's the bad guy and he's taking advantage of her absence to go a little crazy with a new hobby -- actor collecting -- or she's the one who's doing it and the vacation is just a cover."

"I don't know," Karl said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Could a woman take down four guys in a row? Especially Bean?"

"And Viggo's no slouch either," Harry agreed. "Remember all the bruised-up stunties he bought beer for back home? But she's a vet, remember? She can get ahold of tranquilizers and knock-out stuff and syringes and all. Hell, in this area they probably have, what, mountain lions or something? I'll bet she has a trank-gun."

"Fuck. Yeah, that'd do it." Karl glared out the window, thinking.

"And just to make it even better, she seems to be a weird one. Her husband sounds like a nice guy but the doctor's a loner, doesn't go out much, hardly sees anyone at all unless they bring an animal in to her. One of her neighbors says she's on the computer a lot when she's home, late into the night."

Karl scowls and says, "Fuck. You know, I've always wondered what'd happen if one of those crazy fan-women went mental. I mean, more than usual, you know?"

"Yep. That occurred to me too," Harry said with a nod. "So, what, she hears from her husband that a bunch of Rings actors bought the lodge outside of town and that he's managing it? How hard would it be for her to swipe a key, have a duplicate made? The door doesn't squeak at all -- she could sneak in, middle of the night, shoot her target full of knock-out stuff and there you go."

"And carry him, what, down the stairs and out to her car?" Karl's voice wasn't quite as skeptical as his question, but he sounded like he was trying to cover all the angles.

"Hell, once he's drugged unconscious she could drag him down by one leg," Harry pointed out with a growl. "It's not like he'd be complaining. At least not until later, when he woke up wherever she'd taken him with a bunch of bruises."

He didn't mention the other possibility -- that once she'd tranked them they just never woke up again -- and neither did Karl, although Harry could see the worry in his eyes. Harry was worried, too. Especially for Craig; how long did it take this kind of whack-job to get tired of her toys?

They were silent for a few moments, thinking about things, then Karl asked, "So, what now?"

"Now... I write this up and e-mail everyone. We can go back to that coffee shop with the free wireless, next to the T-shirt shop. Documentation first, right? Then we head over to the cops and hand it all to them. They can do things we can't, like check the lodge for Dr. Massing's fingerprints, that sort of thing. But I want to make sure everyone else knows what we've got and what we're thinking before we do anything else."

"It's not much to go on, though. What if they don't buy it?"

Harry shrugged. "Then we make a phone call to Dave and have him call Craig's folks. They're in contact with the FBI, right? Or the cop-rep at the consulate is, at least. Have them call the cops here. If the local cops balk at us, they're more likely to listen to another higher-up cop who's already on this job."

"Good," Karl said, nodding and starting up the car. "Let's do it."

 

Doreen was cleaning the cages. Orlando watched her plod from one to the other, pulling out the big pan that slid in beneath each heavy-duty wire cage and taking it to the bathroom to rinse out before coming back to replace it and pull out the next one. The chain locked around her throat clanked softly with each movement.

The woman had only about twelve feet of chain, the end locked around a heavy pipe that ran up the side of the wall next to the bathroom door, but it was a hell of a lot more freedom of movement than the men in the cages had. Orlando's world had shrunk into a hot, bright throb of pain up and down his spine, across his shoulders, down his arms and legs. His cage was too small to stretch out in, far too small to stand up in, not even tall enough to sit straight up in. He could sit cross-legged or with his legs bent in front of him, or off to one side, but still had to hunch his shoulders down even with his head jammed against the rigid ceiling of heavy-gauge wire. Even if someone let him out right now, he couldn't imagine being able to walk, much less run, dodge, climb. Escape. The only way he'd get out of here was to be carried and he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to pick him up.

He'd been here for weeks, naked in a cage designed for large and vicious dogs. He was dully frightened, long past any sort of sharp, immediate terror -- the body could only produce so much adrenaline before it settled down into routine, however horrific. He was cold and stinking-filthy and lightheaded from hunger. Their captor kept them on short rations -- such as they were, dry dogfood and water -- to help keep them controllable.

Doreen got the same. She was as much a captive as they were, paying for the relative freedom of her collar-chain by being forced to take care of them. Not that she'd be punished if she didn't but she was a nice lady and she knew that if she didn't give them food and water and clean their cages as well as she could then they'd go hungry and thirsty and have to sit a few inches above their own waste and probably get pretty sick. She was a vet and caring for other creatures was what she'd chosen to do with her life; she couldn't just ignore them no matter how much she might want to.

Well, not _want_ to want to, but it was clear that given the choice she'd have just curled up by herself and shrunk down to nothing. Or maybe (and more realistically) gone catatonic trying to pretend this situation wasn't really happening.

Doreen Massing didn't talk much. At first she hadn't talked at all, or so Craig had said, just huddled in the corner on the cold concrete floor of the basement where they were all imprisoned, against the wall on the far side of the room past the opposite row of cages where only Craig was in a position to see her. She was hiding, as much as she could, withdrawn into herself, and only part of it was because she was naked. At a chunky fifty-something she was pretty clearly ashamed of her body.

Most of it, though, was because she thought all this was her fault. She was wrong but she was in the middle of it, she'd been the trigger for it, and she blamed herself. Orlando'd tried to talk to her, back before discomfort had grown to pain and pain had engulfed him to become his whole world, had tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault her husband was a complete loony who'd gone so far around the bend he wasn't even on the same road anymore, but it hadn't worked. He hadn't really expected it to but he'd had to try.

Craig said he'd tried too and it hadn't worked any better.

Viggo had tried to talk to her when he'd woken up, and so had Sean. Occasionally she'd say a few words but for the most part she did what she had to do to keep the four men going and then retreated to her corner. Orlando couldn't blame her; he didn't do much himself.

If he pushed his fingers through the bars at the far left side of his cage he could just brush Craig's fingertips reaching back toward him. They'd spent a lot of time leaning against the walls of their cages, just touching. They'd never been terribly close before but for six days that'd been the only human contact they'd had, and even after Viggo and then Sean had been brought in, the two older men were caged across the wide aisle, invisible in the dark basement and far out of reach.

Orlando just watched, curled up around himself, while Doreen finished the cleaning and then went around filling the food bowls. The big plastic bin of dogfood in the corner only got filled every other week, so she rationed it out carefully. Orlando'd had to get pretty hungry before he started eating it, but it wasn't actually too terrible. Dry and tasteless more than anything else, and water from the bathroom was limited only by how often the woman came around refilling their bowls so there was plenty of that.

When Viggo'd been lugged in, limp over the shoulder of Doreen's short but stocky husband, his heart had twisted in his chest. Viggo'd known where he was going, had called to say he was planning to follow in a few days. Orlando'd held onto the hope that Viggo would figure something out, would do... something. But he'd been caught as well.

Viggo's hope had been for Bean, who was supposed to fly in and meet them. All four of them -- Orlando, Viggo, Craig and even Doreen -- had waited and hoped that Sean would... escape? Figure out what was going on, come to their rescue, do something, whatever, just something.

Orlando wasn't sure why. He knew as well as anyone that they were actors, that no matter how kick-ass their characters were, no matter how often Aragorn and Sharpe beat the stuffing out of the villains and came out on top they were all just a bunch of guys who were good at playing roles and there was no reason in hell they should be any more able than the guy next door to avoid being kidnapped, overpowered, trapped.

But then Bean had been carried in and folded into a cage across the aisle next to Viggo's, stripped and locked in just like the rest of the men. And even Sean's insistence, once he'd regained consiousness, that he'd been in communication with Harry didn't lift their spirits.

Orlando reached out and picked up a few kibbles to crunch on. He was sort of hungry and sort of not but he knew he needed to eat. He didn't need a cramping stomach to go with his aching body.

Doreen was just finishing up the water when the door at the top of the stairs opened, the light flooded on and heavy shoes came creaking down the steps. Orlando tensed up and then groaned softly as his body protested. He edged farther back in his cage, until the curve of his spine was pressed against the bars at the back, and watched out the front with wide eyes. His fingers tightened and the remaining kibbles in his palm crumbled to bits and fell through the wire bottom and into the pan beneath in a shower of light, metallic taps. The couple that he'd eaten began to churn in his stomach. It was never good when Kyle Massing visited.

Especially when he stopped in front of Orlando's cage and gave him a nasty grin.

 

Craig relaxed slightly when Massing tromped past his cage without even looking at him, then held his breath when the cunt stopped in front of Orlando's. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife and a key ring. He unfolded the largest blade, then used one of the keys to open the heavy lock on Orlando's cage door. The keys went back into his pocket, then he unlatched the door, reached in and hauled Orlando out by the arm.

Their cages were on a solid wooden shelf about a meter off the floor. Orlando yelped when he was dragged out, then screamed when he fell deadweight to the floor. Massing held onto his arm and Craig thought that was probably wrenched, along with the crack to his knees and the strain to his back. This was the first time any of them had been let out of their cage since they'd been brought in and Craig could only imagine what it felt like for Orlando to be forcibly uncurled like that. Especially Orlando.

"Stand up. Come on, up!" Massing shook him, then yanked him up, dangling Orlando by one arm until he was able to support at least some of his own weight, although he still looked weak and wobbly and his breath was coming in quick, pained gasps.

Viggo and Sean were yelling and cursing at the guy from across the way but Craig just watched. He'd been here for a long time -- months even? -- and although he wouldn't have said so aloud, he really had no hope left of ever leaving. His life was the cold cage and the dark, smelly space around it and the rest of the world had begun to seem unreal, like something he'd seen in a movie or on television. Whatever happened would happen. More of his friends would appear and be locked in this zoo until some day when Massing died or lost interest and then they'd all just sit here and starve.

"Stand _up,_ you little fucker!" Another shake and then the cunt curled an arm around Orlando's throat and rested his knifeblade against the sharp cheekbone. "Now," he said to Doreen, his voice hot with anticipation, "get your wrinkled butt over here, you fucking slut."

Craig saw Doreen cringe farther into her corner, then slowly step forward, one hesitant pace at a time, her chain dragging behind her. Her arms were crossed over her sagging breasts and her eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of her feet.

Massing raised his voice and said, "You're all here 'cause this whore thinks you're all just so hot and sexy. Isn't that right, Doreen?"

Doreen's shoulders shook on a harsh sob. She jerked her head back and forth, denying... what? That she'd ever admired them? Been a fan? More likely just a general "No," begging him to stop, wishing this'd all go away. Craig could get behind that, in an abstract way. All he actually did, though, was sit there in his cage and watch.

"She just loves to read porn about you all fucking and sucking each other. Really disgusting X-rated shit. Don't you, Doreen?"

Doreen shook her head harder, sobbing out loud now. She sank to her knees and curled up, her arms wrapped around her body, trying to hide and failing miserably.

"It got so she was staying up late at night, reading gay porn and talking to all her perverted friends on the computer and ignoring the flesh and blood husband in her bed. What kinda woman would do that? Turn her back on a real man just so she could read that filthy trash about a bunch of Hollywood pansies fucking each other?"

Craig had heard all this before, but this was the first time the cunt had ever used one of them as such a specific example. Whenever he'd come down to humiliate his wife before he'd always just made a show of it between their cages, where they could see and hear. Hauling Orlando out and making him part of the diatribe was... was escalating his behavior, that was it, and Craig knew it was a bad sign.

" _Look!_ " Massing hollered. He stomped forward, hauling Orlando along clamped to his front, until he was close enough to kick at her. "Look at him, bitch! Not so fucking sexy now, is he? Crippled up bundle of bones! And hardly old enough to shave anyway! You a pedophile, slut? Chasing after little boys young enough to be your son?!"

When Doreen tipped her face up, it was red and swollen and distorted from crying. She was gasping for air and, unlike most actresses, had never mastered the art of crying attractively. She was a miserable, pitiful figure and if Craig had had a gun he'd have shot her fuck of a husband without a single pang of conscience.

Of course, he'd have done that even if the cunt hadn't been hammering into Doreen right now, just on principle.

"I'm going to do you a big favor, whore. You don't deserve it but I'm feeling nice." Craig couldn't see Massing's face but he could hear the nasty grin in the man's voice. "I'm going to make your dreams come true, starting right now. Get over here."

It took a few more barked and cussed orders but finally Doreen uncurled and knelt up on the floor in front of her husband and Orlando.

"There, see, you can figure out what to do. This is your lucky day -- you're gonna suck him off until he comes. Won't that be fun?"

"No!"

The word was an angry, horrified chorus from Doreen, Orlando and the three left in the cages. Massing gave Doreen another hard kick and ignored everyone else. "Do it, you fucking whore! Do it or I'll carve him up!" He slashed the hand with the knife in it down his hostage's cheek and Craig heard a pained hiss from Orlando and a furious bellow from Sean, the only one who had an unobstructed view from his cage.

"Don't!" Doreen was still crying but she jerked forward and laid a shaking hand on Orlando's naked hip. "I'll do it, don't, I'll do it!"

Her hand slid slowly around, past the point of Orlando's hip, to the front of his body where Craig couldn't see. She leaned forward, her eyes huge and frightened and ashamed, so gradually that Massing got impatient. He reached down with the hand still holding the knife and yanked her head into Orlando's crotch. She and Orlando both yelped.

"There you go! Do a good job, bitch! Here, I'll even help you both out. Being choked's supposed to make sex feel really good, right?" Massing tightened his arm around Orlando's throat. Craig could see the young man's body jerking and struggling and his hand clutch at Massing's arm, but even under the best of conditions he wouldn't have been able to break the heavier man's hold and now, hungry and exhausted and crippled up with pain, it just made Massing laugh.

"Relax and enjoy it you little fag! Close your eyes and pretend it's one of your boyfriends!" Massing smacked Orlando's arse and the knife left a bloody smear on his skin.

"Suck him, slut! You used to be good at it!"

Craig just sat there and watched, his eyes dull.

 

The next afternoon, Harry slammed down the phone and cursed.

"What's wrong?" Karl looked over his shoulder, keeping half his attention on the burgers he had broiling in the oven.

"Nothing!" Harry spat. "Well, all right, not nothing, but nothing significant. None of the prints they lifted belonged to Dr. Massing. Plenty from our friend Kyle, but he's supposed to take care of the place so that doesn't mean shit." He stalked into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter, glaring out the window over the sink.

Karl glanced up at the clock, then stepped over and stood between Harry's knees. He put his arms around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug, then stepped back and smacked him on the thigh. "Hey, it's not a dead-end, all right? Either the wife's really on vacation and the husband did it, no matter how much the people around town like him, or she did it after all and was smart enough to wear gloves. Hell, anyone who's ever watched TV or seen a movie knows to wear gloves when you're doing something you don't want to be caught at."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Harry rubbed one cheek with his palm and stared over Karl's shoulder.

"So, now what?"

"What?" Harry blinked, then focused on Karl's face, a frowning crease between his eyebrows.

"What do we do now? What's next?" Karl knocked lightly on the side of Harry's head with his fist. "You're the brains of the outfit, so where do we go from here?"

Harry snorted and smacked Karl's fist away. "Bullshit. I'm the stubborn one who starts charging forward and doesn't know how to stop. You're the one who thinks of shit."

"Whatever," Karl said. Inside he was grinning, though -- he made a mental note to rub that one in Harry's face later on, after all this mess was over and done with. "Pick a direction and let's go."

Harry just glared at him, then slowly slumped. He leaned forward and Karl stepped up to him once more and put his arms around him. "We're not giving up," Karl said quietly. "We just have to think of something else."

"The detective I talked to said she'd be checking out Dr. Massing's whereabouts," Harry said.

Karl nodded. "Good, I wouldn't have any idea how to do that. Especially if the husband's involved, he'd probably try to send us to Tahiti or something. So, leave the doctor to the cops and we check out Kyle?"

"Yeah," said Harry, but Karl thought he sounded unsure. "I already asked around, though, and it's not like on the telly, you know? Only a few of the people I asked were willing to say much, and some of them got hostile. Not that I care what they think but if they tell the cops and they decide we're interfering in their investigation or something we could end up in jail or at least run out of town and that wouldn't do the guys any good at all."

"All right," said Karl, "so we don't go around bugging people anymore. How about if we keep an eye on Kyle?" Another glance at the clock and he added, "We probably just have time to eat and get back to town by six. We can see where he goes after he closes the office."

Harry's smile returned and he said, "See, I told you you're the one who thinks of shit. We'll do that. I'll go update the gang."

He slid to the side and made to leave the kitchen but Karl grabbed him by one arm and hauled him back. One long, deep kiss later, he said, "There, now you can go do your typing. Dinner in ten."

"Bully," Harry muttered, but he was smiling when he walked away.

 

Orlando'd spent the night huddled in the back of his cage and refused to talk to anyone. Doreen had retreated to her corner as soon as her husband released her and refused to say a word, or to come any closer until light seeping in from a gap in the heavy plastic covering the small, high windows told them it was time for breakfast, such as it was.

Viggo and Sean had spoken on and off through the day in quiet whispers, even though they knew that Craig and Orlando could probably hear them. There wasn't much to say that hadn't already been said, but they felt a need to talk anyway, to make some attempt to keep hoping.

There was Harry, after all. He'd been the one to pull everyone together when he'd first missed Craig, and Viggo couldn't imagine him losing interest now that four of them had been taken. And the feds were working on the case -- Sean had confirmed it, that Craig's family had gone to the authorities. The New Zealand police force had a liaison officer with their embassy in LA, the nearest to Craig's residence in the States, and he'd contacted the FBI.

News of Craig's disappearance had shown up in the press before Sean was taken, and by now who knew what else had been printed, broadcasted and posted to the web, but from where Viggo was standing -- sitting, actually, crouched in a fucking uncomfortable ball -- the more people who knew they were all missing the better. If there was publicity fallout, that's what they all paid publicists to handle.

And the day dragged by in quiet talk and silent dread.

What's next? Viggo wondered. He goes all this time without ever touching any of us, just coming down to gloat and badger Doreen every few days, and then last night he ups the stakes.

Viggo thought about what he'd do if the fucker held a knife to Orlando and grinned at _him_ that way, made him do... what? Another blowjob wouldn't be too bad. It wouldn't be the first he'd given and he couldn't even swear he'd never thought about Orlando in that context.

But not like this. Not with a bunch of folks watching and some crazed cunt with a knife running the show. He's probably getting off on it.

Sure, he'd thought about having Orlando in his bed, making him squirm and moan and come, but not like this. Never like this.

What a fucking nightmare.

And it continued just a few hours later, with the sound of the upstairs door opening and the flicker and flood of the lights.

Massing had never come two nights in a row before, or even close. What the fuck did he want now?

Doreen scuttled into her corner. Viggo couldn't see her but he could hear her wet, breathy whimpering.

"Get over here, you fucking whore!" Massing shouted. He went right for Orlando's cage and unlocked it. He jerked the young man out and dragged him back up the aisle toward the door, ignoring the curses and yells of the other three men.

Doreen crept closer, slowly, begging through her tears for him to leave her alone, leave Orlando alone, just leave them all alone. Massing pulled his keys out of his pocket and threw them at her, then pulled out his knife once more.

"Him and him," he said, pointing to Craig and Sean's cages. "Get 'em out. The animals need exercise." He snickered at his own joke, then his tone went threatening and he said, "Either of you twitch, do one single thing I don't tell you, and the kid's gonna need every plastic surgeon in Hollywood, you got that?" He set the blade of his knife behind Orlando's ear and glared.

First Craig, then Sean eased themselves slowly out of their cages, wincing and groaning. Sean managed to stand up first, despite Craig's having been released first; Craig teetered and fell to the floor with a yelp, then just lay there moaning.

"Stay on the floor if you want, fucking animals. You!" He waved the knife at Sean. "Get him over in the middle there."

Sean snarled up at him but managed to move Craig over a couple of feet, as gently as he could. He knelt down, wincing, and tried to rub his cramping legs, but Massing wasn't willing to wait for them to get comfortable.

"Leave his legs alone, he doesn't need 'em. You two are gonna suck each other off, and Doreen's gonna watch. She loves reading that filth so watching'll be a treat, won't it, slut?"

Doreen stumbled back against Craig's empty cage and sobbed into her hands. She didn't even seem to mind too much when her husband ordered her to put her hands down and watch; she just looked relieved that she wouldn't be doing anything herself this time. Viggo couldn't really blame her.

Sean looked ready to explode but all he did was growl at Massing, his eyes on the hand holding the knife and Orlando's frightened face.

Massing snapped, "Do it!" and sliced. Bright red blood streamed down the curve of Orlando's ear and he yelped in pain. Viggo slammed both hands against the front of his cage, feeling more fucking useless than he could ever remember.

Craig touched Sean's knee and whispered something. Sean gave Massing one last glare, then turned his back on him and ran a hand through Craig's filthy hair. They whispered together some more, then slowly, awkwardly, shifted into a sixty-nine position with Craig, who still couldn't move very well, on the bottom.

Sean squared his shoulders and went to it with the same getting-it-over-with aura Viggo remembered from numerous plane and helicopter rides. He also recognized an echo of his own repugnance -- not for what he was doing per se, because Viggo knew for a fact that Sean had been with other men as well, here and there, but for the circumstances. Viggo could almost hear Sean muttering "Soonest begun is soonest done," and setting to a distasteful task that couldn't be helped.

Distasteful. And that was probably part of it too, although Viggo hadn't really thought about it before. None of them had seen even toilet paper since they'd been brought here, much less showers or toothbrushes; he couldn't imagine any of them would taste very good just to a regular kiss, much less any more intimate oral contact.

What a fucking nightmare. Harry, where the hell are you?!

 

"Where the hell are we?" Harry snapped, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel and trying to peer out into the darkness.

"We're still on the same road," Karl said, slightly calmer as he studied the map by the light of a flashlight, but not much. "We haven't made any turns, he's just not there anymore. We must've missed a side road somewhere."

"Shit. We'll never find it tonight." Harry muttered a string of stronger curses and smacked the steering wheel once more just because.

Karl sighed and shook his head. "No, probably not. If you turn around and drive slow, we can keep an eye out on either side, but I wouldn't lay any bets. Even if we spot a side road there's nothing to say we missed seeing only one before -- dark as it is there could be twenty between here and Leadville."

"I know, I know...." Harry did a careful three-point turn on the empty highway and started back, keeping it down to a crawl. "But at least if we can figure out where we last saw him, that'd give us something to go by, right?"

"Yeah," Karl said, his tone dubious. "We can give it a shot. At least a good estimate. If we can find a landmark or something and then come back tomorrow in the daytime, maybe we can figure it out."

"Right. Tomorrow. Dammit."

It took them a long time, long enough that Karl never looked at his watch -- he didn't _want_ to know how long they drove slowly back and forth, arguing over landmarks and narrowing it down to a long stretch of road with four curves, two hills and a lot of snowy pavement. Harry was counting standing trees and dead trees and mailboxes so they could find this particular spot again, a little corner that was the best landmark nearby, but Karl had just sighed and gotten out of the car. "They're mailboxes, Harry," he said patiently, and went over to scribble the number on the first one down on the corner of the map.

"Fine, do it the easy way," Harry muttered.

"You're welcome," said Karl as he climbed back into the car. "So we'll come back and scout around tomorrow, find all the turn-offs from this road starting two corners back from here and going up until where we turned around. Then next time when we follow him he won't be able to lose us."

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Harry reminded him. "Bet you the office is closed. He could come up here whenever he wants. Unless you want to stake out his house all night and follow him again?"

Karl and Harry stared at each other. The right answer seemed to be, "Of course that's what we'll do," but it wasn't even nine o'clock. He might be staying wherever he was and not go home, he might go home and not come back until tomorrow afternoon or evening, he might go home and not come back for days -- who was to say a kidnapper cared about feeding his captives every day?

And that was assuming he was actually the kidnapper and that he wasn't just up here playing poker with his mates.

Finally, Karl said, "How about if we go home, get some dinner and some sleep, and think about it. We can go back to his house at dawn if we want, see if his car's there. If it is, we can wait for him. If it's not then we can head out, come back here and start hunting up side roads."

Harry muttered something but nodded and started the engine once more. "Food sounds good," he admitted. "The burgers were great but I usually eat more than one, and that was a few hours ago. We can't do anything really useful till morning anyway."

 

Sean came first, although Viggo thought it was more a matter of Craig's weak and atrophied body than any valid comparison of technique or skill. Sean jerked his hips away and shot on Craig's shoulder and the floor rather than take a chance of choking him, which was probably a good thing; aside from the lack of condoms, Craig might not be physically able to swallow that much viscous liquid at one time and he doubted Massing would care much if he choked to death. What's one used up victim when you've got three more?

Despite the fucker's jeering and taunts, Sean kept going, all his focus on Craig. He slipped a finger inside him and that helped -- Craig finally orgasmed a couple minutes later. Sean turned around and made sure Craig was all right. They whispered together for a few moments and from the outside it looked like Bean's entire world was his gasping friend.

Viggo knew him, though, better than most people and he could tell something was up. He forced himself to keep breathing, to _not_ glance back and forth between Sean and Massing (and Orlando) but to just maintain and stay relaxed, not react at all. The only sign that something was coming was that his lips were barely moving in a voiceless, "Fuck fuck fuck..." while his brain was shouting, "Go, do it, get him!"

His brain wasn't very smart but part of him just wanted to forget about chances and consequences and see Sean pound the cunt into the ground.

Then Sean looked up at Massing and his carefully blank face flushed. Viggo looked over just in time to see that Massing was humping Orlando from behind -- not penetrating, his pants were still up -- but rubbing off on him, using him, his eyes glazed with lust and hate. Less then a heartbeat later Sean was charging. He tackled them both -- Massing and Orlando -- around the knees and they all went down in a pile, joints cracking against the concrete of the floor and cries of anger and pain blending and filling the stark room.

Viggo yelled, "Orlando!" with no conscious volition, terrified that Massing would hurt him badly either because he'd said he would or just out of reflex or fuck just by accident, but the stocky man tossed him aside and fell upon Sean with his knife, and then it was over.

Orlando was scrambling away from Massing, but unfortunately from where he'd been thrown he ended up going back into the room, toward Doreen and the bathroom. If he'd gone the other way he might've made it up the stairs and out the door. Probably not, but maybe. It didn't matter, though, because the fucker was still between all of them and the only exit.

He took a step closer to Sean then very deliberately kicked him hard in the upper arm where the blade had gone in. Sean cried out in pain, then started cussing him out. Massing ignored him. He turned and left, heading up the stairs with a heavy, annoyed step. The door closed and locked behind him.

Viggo couldn't believe it -- he'd left them out of their cages. The other three, anyway.

"Doreen!" he called, his voice low but tense and urgent. "Doreen, let me out! You've still got the keys, come let me out, come on, hurry!"

She just stared at him, her expression blank, then shook her head. She looked around at Craig, half dead or doing a good impression of it. At Sean and Orlando, both smeared with blood. She huddled in on herself and stared down at the floor, still shaking her head.

"Doreen!" Fuck, fuck, fuck! "Doreen!"

Then the door opened again and a white metal box came flying across the basement. It clattered onto the floor and bounced off Craig's head. It was white, with a big red cross on the cover.

Massing snarled, "Get that one back into his cage, then patch up the other two. Hurry up, you useless slut! I don't have all night to wait for you." He came down the stairs more slowly than the first aid kit had and leaned against the handrail, watching them, his brown-smeared knife still out.

Doreen looked up at him, then walked over and helped Craig to his feet. She moved like someone sleepwalking. It took a couple of minutes but she helped him back to his cage and boosted him up high enough to sit in it, then gently lifted his legs and swung them around, folding him back up until she could close and re-lock the door. Craig groaned and gasped while she moved him, then huddled down facing the back of his cage. Viggo could hear him sobbing.

She picked up the kit and moved over to Orlando but Massing said, "The stupid one first." She obediently stepped away from Orlando, left him lying on the floor and prodded Sean until he uncurled enough for her to get at his arm. She cleaned it with disinfectant, bandaged it up, then tried to tug him to his feet, looking up at his empty cage.

Sean just lay there, dead weight, glaring up at Massing.

Their captor smirked and came the rest of the way down into the basement. He strolled over to Orlando and stood there studying him. "You know," he said in a conversational tone, his knife pointing down at the young man's face, "I'll bet if I cut off his nose he'd have a lot easier time getting his tongue up your ass. The men in those filthy stories she always read used to do that to each other. I bet you'd like that," he said to Sean. "Should we try?"

"Yeh fuckin' cunt!" Sean scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking Doreen over in the process. "Yeh touch the lad one more time and I swear to fuckin' God I'll kill yeh with me own two hands!"

Massing just sneered at him. "Try it, fag-boy. I'll give you a hole to match on the other side and then I'll take the little pansy's nose anyway. Get in your damn cage."

Sean looked like a thundercloud about to explode. Terrified, Viggo called, "Sean! Don't! Come on, man, come on back! Save it for later! Come on, Sean, don't do it!" He tried to reach out even though it was pointless because he could only stick his fingers through the cage wires but he had to try to get closer and his whole body was pressed against the bars in the front and he was going to have a waffle impressed on his chest to go with the one on his ass but he kept pushing both hands out to Sean, trying to draw him back, pull his focus here and away from Massing, over here, come on....

Finally Sean's shoulders slumped, just the tiniest bit, and he turned to Viggo. He leaned against his cage, his forehead pressed against the bars. Viggo moved his hands and touched him, brushing his fingertips against Sean's sweating forehead as well as he could.

"In. The fucking. Cage." Massing had dragged Orlando back to his feet and had the blade of his knife pressed to his cheek, right next to his nose. "The next thing you hear is going to be your friend here screaming. Three, two, one--"

Sean jerked away and dived into the cage next to Viggo's. Doreen scuttled over and slammed the door, clicking the lock shut, her hands shaking so badly it took her four tries.

Viggo sagged into the corner of his own cage, his heart pounding in his ears, suddenly short of breath. He watched Massing shove Orlando back into his cage. He locked it, took the keys from Doreen, knocked her down with a casual, backhanded fist across the face, then left, turning off the light and locking the door behind him.

 

His eyes hadn't readjusted to the dark yet but Craig could hear Doreen crawling away to her corner, her breath hitching with quiet sobs.

"Doreen?" he called softly. He wiped away his own tears and coughed to clear his throat, then repeated, "Dorry? It's all right, honey, don't cry. You were afraid and that's okay, we're all afraid. I know I am, all right?"

Craig'd been down here longer than anyone, even Doreen herself. A couple of days after he'd brought Craig down here, her husband had dragged her in, chained her to the wall, cut her clothes off her, raped her right in front of Craig's cage while raging on and on about what a filthy slut she was, then kicked her into her corner and left her. They'd been together in the cold and dark ever since.

Sometimes he thought he knew Doreen better than anyone else in the world.

"Sorry," she whispered through the darkness. "Sorry. I couldn't do it." Another gasping sob and then, so quietly Craig has to strain to hear, "Don't want you to leave me alone."

"We'd never leave you! Dorry! Come on, honey, you know better than that." He wished for the billionth time that he could touch her, put an arm around her. She was terrified of being left alone and always had been. She'd moved back in with her parents after graduating from university, then married her arsewipe of a husband. She'd never lived alone, never _been_ completely alone, and during the first few weeks of their mutual imprisonment her greatest fear had been that her husband would kill Craig and leave her down here.

Sometimes Craig thought she might be more afraid of being rescued and losing her husband to prison, leaving her completely alone in the world, than she was of staying here for the rest of her life.

"My key isn't on that ring," Doreen whispered. "Only the cages."

"It doesn't matter," Craig insisted, keeping his tone warm and encouraging. "We'll figure something out. Between the four of us we could break it or pull it out of the wall, find something to pry it with, something."

He heard a shifting creak from the cage next to him and then Orlando's voice.

"Of course we wouldn't leave you," he said. "We're getting out of here and you're coming with us."

"See?" said Craig. "We'd never leave without you."

"Yes, we would." Viggo's usually rough voice sounded older and more tired than Craig had ever heard it, but his first reaction was anger. How the fuck could Viggo be such an asshole?!

"Anyone who gets a chance to get out of here takes it," said Viggo harshly. "Anyone who escapes can go get help and bring it back. If we wait until we can all go together, the time might never come. We need to take any chance we get and if that means only one or two people get away then that's what it means."

Craig opened his mouth to protest, then closed it slowly.

"But we wouldn't _all_ have to go," Orlando said. It was phrased as a statement but it sounded like a question. "I mean, even if all the rest of us got out, someone should stay with Doreen, right?"

"No." Viggo sounded regretful but sure. "We're too weak to fight him, between these fucking boxes and being half starved. Our best chance is for as many of us as possible to get away and scatter. Even if only one succeeds, that's enough."

No one had anything to say after that, but Craig could hear Doreen crying softly in the darkness.

 

Far too early the next morning, Karl and Harry were sitting in their rental, across the street and a couple houses down from Kyle's place. They each had a mug of coffee and there was a thermos with more wedged between the seats on the center console. Harry had a sack full of Egg McMuffins on his lap and there were a couple of wadded-up wrappers littering the floor.

"At least his car's there," Karl said in between sips of coffee. "He did come home last night and we didn't miss him."

Harry nodded and took an unenthusiastic bite of his sandwich. Stake-outs were fucking boring. He had an idea gestating in the back of his head for a film about a cop stuck on a stake-out for some ridiculous length of time, like years, drinking coffee and eating quick-fried grease while watching a building for someone who never showed up or never left or something like that.

He was in the middle of trying to figure out just how that particular foul-up would've happened when a couple of late-model American cars pulled up in front of Kyle's place. Three men and a woman, all in suits, got out. The men headed up toward Kyle's door, but the woman looked around, spotted Harry and Karl in their car, and headed over. As she approached, Harry recognized her.

He rolled down the window and said, "Detective Bellinger, morning."

"Mr. Sinclair," she said, not sounding too pleased to see him. She looked past him and said, "And you're Mr. Urban? May I ask just what you're doing here?"

Harry glanced over at Karl and made a quick decision to play it straight. "We're keeping an eye on Massing's place. We were hoping that if he left to go somewhere, he'd lead us to our friends."

The detective's lips stiffened. Harry could feel her suppressing an eyeroll.

"That," she said, "is a very foolish idea. If it turns out that Mr. Massing is indeed the kidnapper then you two could be hurt or taken yourselves. Or you could send him into a panic and cause him to get rid of his victims. Or you could panic him and cause him to just stay away from wherever he has them hidden, until the result is the same but much slower. Or if it turns out that he's not the kidnapper he could lay a complaint against you and I'd have to arrest you both. I think we can all agree that none of these possible outcomes is desirable."

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, no, ma'am." Harry figured "charming" wasn't a good idea right now, so he went for "sincere" instead, with a little "abashed" thrown in.

She gave him a hard stare, but only said, "Now, you two go about your business. I'll let you know what's happening when there's something to tell."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry repeated with a nod. He waved, rolled up the window and started the car. Detective Bellinger watched them all the way down the street, until they'd turned a corner.

"Okay, now what?" asked Karl. "Back to the mailboxes?"

"Of course," said Harry. "That's what we were going to do anyway if he hadn't been there, right? And now we know he's going to be home for a while. Bellinger's the only local cop on this case, so I'll bet the other three were FBI. They'll be there for some time and that'll give us a chance to hunt for that turn-off without having to worry he's coming up behind us or sneaking off somewhere else."

Karl nodded and said, "Let's go."

 

It was a long day. Sean had said he was pretty sure it was Saturday. Viggo'd lost track, and the others as well, but it was as good a guess as any.

If it was Saturday, though, then Massing had the day free and could come around any time. No one said very much; they just sat and watched the sliver of light shift across the floor.

Doreen cleaned their cages, fed and watered them, then went back to sitting.

The light kept moving, slowly, one photon at a time, taking the entire day to make its trip from the edge of Sean's cage, across the aisle, past Craig's cage and into the far corner where only Sean and Doreen could see it before it died completely at sunset.

Doreen cleaned the cages, gave them food and water.

Sores ached. Muscles cramped and spasmed.

Finally the door at the top of the stairs opened and the light came on.

Three days in a row, Viggo thought, squinting into the glare and listening to the heavy footsteps descending the staircase. That's not good at all. What now? What next?

When Massing came into view, Viggo saw that he had a rifle with him. He froze for a long moment -- was this the end? He'd gotten tired of his games, or the police were on to him, and he wanted to get rid of his victims, bury the evidence?

The man walked past Viggo's cage, stopped in front of Sean's, raised the rifle to his shoulder and shot him.

Viggo was too shocked to even yell, although the others were making plenty of noise, and by the time he could breathe again he'd realized that the shot hadn't been loud enough to be a real cartridge. Blanks were loud too, so what the fuck...?

Massing grinned down at Doreen. "I used the dosage charts and estimated his weight," he said in a gloating tone. "Then I cut it back to three-quarters. That should be enough to keep him quiet but leave him conscious. I want him awake -- wouldn't want him to miss the show."

Drugs. A tranquilizer dart. Viggo closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the front of his cage and let the relief flow through him. Until he wondered why.

Sean cursed at Massing, calling him every foul name Viggo's ever heard him use before, but after a minute or so he started to slow down, and finally he trailed off into incoherent mumbling. Massing went away and took the tranquilizer rifle back up into the house, came back with his keys and unlocked the cage, then threw the ring at Doreen.

He hauled Sean out and sat on one of the lowest steps with Sean slumped on the floor between his knees. He held him up with one arm around his throat and the knife at his face, obviously ready to stay for a while.

"Those two," he said. And he pointed to Orlando's cage, and then to Viggo's.

Fuck, fuck fuck....

Doreen picked up the keys and shuffled over to Orlando's cage. She opened it up but didn't pull him out; she just crossed the aisle and opened Viggo's. She only glanced at him once but he could tell that she expected him to make a break for it, to take Orlando, and Sean if he could but if he couldn't to leave them too and just... what? Run past Massing on the stairs, hoping the grinning cunt would politely scoot over and let him by?

If he had a chance he'd do just that but the key word was "chance." He wouldn't do something stupid and get himself or anyone else hurt when there was no chance of making it out. Instead he shifted around so he could sit on the edge of the cage with his legs dangling over the side, trying to stretch slowly. Every joint in his body was bitching him out something awful. His muscles ached and when he finally eased down to the floor and stood upright, his head spun.

"You!"

Viggo looked up and saw that Massing was gesturing at him with the knife.

"You, fuck him. Ream his ass good. You were always doing that in that filthy porn the whore was reading so I'll bet she'd love to see the real thing."

"No!" It was out before Viggo could even think about whether protesting was a good idea but it didn't matter. Fuck no, not like this!

"Hey, that's fine," said Massing. "You won't entertain us, I'll just have to figure something else to do." The chokehold wasn't necessary anymore, if it ever had been, so he fisted his hand in Sean's hair and tugged his head back. "Maybe a Heidelberg scar? I bet he could get some really interesting parts in movies with one of those -- they'd save a shitload on makeup, right?" Before Viggo could even think of moving, he'd drawn an oozing red line down one side of Sean's face, from his forehead down over his eye to just beside his mouth.

"No!"

"No?" Massing jerked Sean's head around and looked at him. "You're right. It's not deep enough. That'll heal up with hardly a mark. We need to give him something that'll show on camera."

"Don't!" Viggo sprang forward, his hands outstretched, and lost his balance. He managed to catch himself but he ended up down on one knee. "Don't. Please."

Massing smirked at him but he lowered the knife. "Well, if you're going to beg so pretty then I guess I'll let you have your way this once. Get on with it." He jerked his head at Orlando, who was still sitting in the doorway of his cage with his legs dangling.

Viggo swallowed hard, but nodded and pulled himself back up to his feet. He helped Orlando down, trying not to think about the lack of a condom or even any kind of lube and just held him for a moment. "Sorry," he whispered. He felt the younger man nodding against his shoulder.

He heard a scuffle and looked back toward the stairs. Sean was struggling in Massing's arms, but it was clear he was too out of it to do anything effective. He managed to plant an elbow in the fucker's gut but there wasn't any force behind it. But still, he was attracting the cunt's attention and this might be their only chance.

 

"I told you the detour was worth it," Harry bragged, leaning over to look at the opened pamphlet on Karl's lap.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a genius too," Karl muttered. He was studying a rental property brochure he'd picked up from a plastic display box right outside Kyle's office. Harry'd remembered seeing it and insisted they come back and get one when their more random hunt up and down the long, winding road had fizzled.

They'd found the right stretch of road all right, but in the daylight, where they could actually _see_ all the side roads branching off the thicker line on the map, there'd been dozens of them. And this being a resort area, there'd been dozens of smaller roads and driveways off of each side road. Even if they'd been willing to knock on every door -- and the chances of being allowed to do _that_ for very long were slim to none -- it would've taken them weeks, if not months, to search the whole area.

Without any other plan, though, they'd stuck grimly to it all day, driving up and down, looking for "likely" houses, whatever that meant. They'd seen a few properties with sale or rental signs and had stopped to look around, since a theoretically empty house sounded like a pretty good place to keep four kidnapped actors. All they'd gotten for the time spent hiking across snowy yards and peering in windows under snow-loaded trees was a lot of cold, wet exhaustion.

Then they'd spotted yet another rental sign, this one with Rocky Mountain Management's logo on it, and Harry'd gotten his brainstorm.

Karl had argued for a minute, since the office was on the opposite side of town from where they were. They'd have to backtrack all the way to Leadville and clear through the business district and then come all the way back out again. He'd finally agreed, though, and Harry'd been right.

The brochure listed all the places Kyle's company had for rent in the area, with photos, addresses, descriptions and prices.

"Here," Karl said finally, stabbing his finger at a small picture three from the bottom. "This has to be it." He fished the map out of the glove box and found the stretch of road they'd been on last night, then started tracing other roads off of it and quickly found the right one. "Gotta be. Look -- it's right here, just a couple miles up Eagle Crest off of Woodbine, near where we lost him before. And the rent is almost twice as much as any other place its size. I'll bet that's deliberate, so no one'll want to go see it."

"I'll bet you're right," said Harry, sounding really cheery for the first time that day. He started the car and pulled out, making a careful U-turn and heading back out into the falling darkness. "Let's go -- you navigate."

 

"No," Orlando whispered, his bony hands clamping around Viggo's waist. "Don't. He'll kill you."

"He's distracted, we've gotta try!" Viggo whispered back, his voice quick and urgent.

Orlando's eyes darted back and forth between Viggo and the stairs and Viggo could see him agonizing in indecision. Just then there was a sharp thumping sound, and then a thud. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sean slumped on the concrete floor, a fresh splash of blood trickling down from his forehead.

"Stubborn asshole," Massing muttered. "Okay, so he can't watch, but that doesn't mean you two can slack off. Come on, get on with it. I can slice pieces off of him just as easy when he's asleep as I can when he's awake."

Viggo swore under his breath. Whether or not it'd been a good idea, the opportunity was gone now.

Orlando tugged him down to the floor, his motions that of an eager lover but his expression was painted with fear and pain and tension.

"Easy, babe," Viggo whispered. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "What'll be easier on your back, face up or face down?" Fuck, he was going to do it and he couldn't believe this was happening, not like this but what was he supposed to do with some psycho-cunt with a knife who'd already drawn blood on Sean and Orlando...?

Orlando bit his lip and looked down. "On my knees, I think," he whispered back. "I can sort of curl up."

Viggo nodded and helped him turn over onto his hands and knees, then ease down with as much of his weight on his folded arms as he could manage. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, a tense, frightened rattling sound.

No, it wasn't him. Orlando? Or maybe his teeth were chattering -- it was pretty cold, and although they'd mostly gotten used to it the floor was worse than the cages. No, it was back there.... He glanced around, trying not to move his head much, but now his heart really was pounding because--

There, it was the window! Something or someone was tapping at the window, that fantastic window where the plastic was sagging and let light in during the day and which _must_ be spilling a tiny sliver of light outside now that it was dark! Someone had noticed! Please, someone had noticed, let it be a person and not a cat or a dog or a raccoon!

He gave Orlando a quick squeeze, then jumped up and ran over to the back wall, next to the bathroom. "Here! Help!" he shouted. "Help, help!" He jumped up and slapped his hand against the plastic-covered glass, then again. "Help! Down here! Get us out!"

He heard an angry yell behind him and shouted louder, frantic to attract attention before Massing stopped him, or made someone else pay for what he was doing. Oh, fuck!

He spun around and saw their furious kidnapper barrelling toward him, his knife out and his teeth bared. Viggo just stood there and kept yelling, bracing himself to curl around the knife when he was hit and minimize damage.

But Orlando, still on the floor on his knees, lunged out and wrapped his arms around Massing's shins as he passed. The man went down hard but he hung onto the knife.

Viggo dived onto him, trying to grab his knife hand. The man was in a panic, though, flailing and slashing like a frenzied shark. Viggo felt a hot pain in his arm, then another one across his ribs and soon all three of them were smeared and spattered with blood.

Orlando was gasping with pain as well and Viggo had no idea if he'd been cut or if it was just trying to wrestle with a body that'd been hurting for a couple of weeks straight. He grabbed for the knife again and just got a jab in his palm for the effort.

But from upstairs he heard a massive crash and he found himself grinning like a maniac. That _had_ to be someone breaking down the door, or maybe busting a window, _something,_ it just had to be. If they could just hold out for another minute this'd all be over.

From that point he ignored the knife and just focused on keeping the fucker down and pinned. Orlando was lying across his thighs and Viggo was stretched across his back. If they could just keep him flat on his stomach he wouldn't be able to do much. Just a little longer, he thought at whoever that was breaking in. Come _on,_ hurry _up,_ where are you?!

On cue, as though a director had said, "Go," the door at the top of the stairs crashed open and Karl and Harry piled through.

 

The first impression that hit Harry was the stench. After being outside in the dark for so long and then stumbling through the dark house, the light down in the basement nearly blinded him but it smelled like a petrol station loo after a really bad overflow.

Karl didn't seem to be having any problems with his eyes because he'd charged straight down the steps, although he'd nearly tripped at the bottom. He called, "It's Bean," up over his shoulder, then went on to the knot of bodies on the floor farther into a shadowed aisle.

Harry checked on Bean. He was awake but groggy, his eyes only half open and the pupils blown. It looked like he was pretty badly concussed and Harry's eyes were recovered enough to see the slash on his face and the other bruises and hurts, and the expertly wrapped bandage on his arm. The vet, it had to be her.

He looked over to where a pile of guys, half of them naked, was grunting and swearing, but Karl hauled back his booted foot and kicked hard and the pile went still.

Karl had it covered, which wasn't any kind of surprise. Harry pulled out his mobile and punched in 911.

 

Karl ignored Kyle's limp body on the floor and helped Viggo and then Orlando up and off of him. From what he can see and smell, right now he really didn't give a shit if the fucker he'd just kicked was alive or not. A nice little brain-bleed could save the Yank taxpayers a lot of dollars.

A naked woman, fat and frightened and gray, slid past him, a ring of keys rattling in her hand. She went over to one of the cages lining the aisle and started fumbling with the lock. Karl peered in and saw Craig's thin, dirty face staring out at him. He heard his own name whispered, and then two filthy hands clutched at the cage bars.

Cage -- yeah, there were a bunch of cages around. Six that he could see, barely big enough for a man, set up on heavy, waist-high shelves. Five were empty, and three had the doors hanging open. He cursed and turned back to where the naked woman -- who, he now noticed, had a heavy chain locked around her neck -- was still trying to get the key into the lock despite her shaking hands.

"I'll do that," Karl said quickly. He put his hand over the woman's two and took the keys from her. "Here, ma'am, I've got it."

She let go of the keyring and backpedalled away from him, then turned to face the wall and just huddled there, her head bowed and her arms wrapped around her front. Karl glanced at her but then turned back to the lock. A moment later it clicked and he swung the door open. "Craig, fuck," he breathed.

"Karl." Craig leaned into him and would've fallen to the floor if Karl hadn't caught him.

"Easy, now, watch it...." Karl picked him up in his arms like a child and carried him over to the steps and up. All he could think of was to get Craig -- and all of them -- out of this stinkhole.

He passed Harry, who was on the phone. Harry called, "I've got the 911 lady -- the cops and an ambulance are on the way." Karl nodded and just kept on going.

"Here you go," Karl said, setting Craig gently down on a sofa in the living room. "Let me find you a blanket, you must be freezing."

"Don't leave," Craig said quickly, his voice a dry rasp. He tried to clutch at Karl's arm but all he could manage was to rest his hand on it.

Karl hesitated, then reached over to a side table and clicked on a lamp. He looked around and spotted a knitted afghan tossed over the back of a chair. "Hang on, I'm not going anywhere." He gave Craig's hand a squeeze and then took the two steps necessary to snag the afghan.

He wrapped it around Craig, who huddled into it and then looked up at him and said, "Go get Doreen?"

"Who?"

"Doreen, the lady down there with us?"

"Is that Massing's wife, the vet?"

Craig nodded quickly. "You need to find the key to her chain -- it's not on the ring with the rest of them. Or at least she said it wasn't." He sent a frightened glance down the dark hall toward the basement door. "He was hurting her all along, before he started on us."

"She'll be okay," Karl promised. He sat down on the sofa next to Craig and added, "Harry called the police. If we can't find the key we'll just cut it off her, all right?"

"Whatever, that'll work too," Craig said. He leaned over and rested his head on Karl's shoulder, then closed his eyes. Karl looped an arm around him and they just sat there together until the cops showed up.

 

EPILOGUE

"...just told us not to follow him and we didn't," Harry was explaining over the speaker phone. It was the same conference call they'd had a month ago, with the addition of Craig, who was curled up on the couch in Harry's apartment between him and Karl. "We found the place all by ourselves. I got the hairy eyeball from the judge for that one but technically we didn't break any laws or even ignore any official suggestions and since it all worked out they let us go."

"It helped that we promised to stay out of Colorado for a while," Karl added drily.

"Heh, I'll bet!" Lija's laugh was all hissy but it was pretty clear he was cracking up.

"And what happened to Dr. Massing?" asked Ian.

"She's camped in my spare bedroom, actually," Harry admitted. "She's out talking to a counselor right now; hopefully she'll be able to move here without too many hassles. She didn't want to stay in Leadville and she didn't have any family or even any close friends and this agency is going to find her a place to live and help her make the transition. The divorce is going through and she's selling her practice. I'm glad we convinced her to stay permanently -- New York can always use another vet, and Scooter and Bingley think she's great."

"Your poodles think everyone's great, Harry. That doesn't exactly mean much, you know?" Harry could imagine Dom's grin while he said it.

"Shove it, Monaghan. I'll have you know the boys are quite discriminating."

Gales of tinny laughter errupted out of the phone. Harry grumbled out loud, but winked at Craig, who had Bingley curled up in his lap. Scooter was playing tug-of-war with Karl on the floor with someone's sock that wasn't ever going to be wearable again, and to himself Harry was willing to admit that if burglars broke in, the boys would probably greet them with happy bouncing and lots of kisses.

"So, Harry." That was Lija again, and his studied-innocence tone made Harry want to pick up something large and blunt. "You only have one spare bedroom, right? And Dr. Massing's got that. Didn't you say Karl and Craig are staying there too? Must be tough trying to get across the floor to go take a leak in the middle of the night with all those bodies crashed on it."

"I have a kingsize bed, Lija, and some people are mature enough to be able to share a huge expanse of mattress without having to fuck."

"Sure you are, Harry. I guess it must be an old fogey thing, huh?" He was about to say more but he was interrupted.

"That's enough, Lij." Viggo spoke and the kid shut up. Harry wished Viggo'd teach him that trick 'cause it sure came in handy.

And actually, he was only telling the truth. Karl had put off going back to New Zealand and Craig had come home to Harry's place with them. He still got panicky if he was left alone and they all stuck together as much as they could. They slept the same way they were sitting -- Karl-Craig-Harry -- and although Lija'd probably never believe it, it _was_ only sleeping. It might become more later, but for now that's what Craig needed and Harry was willing to give him whatever he needed.

And since all the ex-captives had been talking on the phone a good three or four times a week since they'd split up, Harry knew that Viggo, Orlando and Bean had the same arrangement, which might well have been why Viggo hadn't wanted any more teasing on the subject of sleeping habits. Whatever worked, though, right?

Sometimes he wondered whether Craig would've been better off with them, able to be with more people who'd been there and understood, but he'd wanted to come with him and Karl and they were glad to have him.

Doreen had sort of attached herself to Craig -- she'd never had any kids and Craig was about the right age. Couple that with the fact that they'd been locked up alone together for almost three months and Harry figured they'd had to have come out of it either hating the sight of each other or all but inseparable, and it'd ended up the latter.

He didn't know how long it'd last but as he leaned back with his arm around Craig's shoulders and Karl on the floor in front of them both, he knew they were good for each other and that they were all gonna be okay. And that was what mattered, right?


End file.
